Snagged in coloured pencil leaves and golden autumn

I've managed to do a bit more work on my woodland scene. There are some incredibly clumsy areas, and the odd place I'm not too unhappy with. The left hand dark area contrasts quite nicely with the brightness of the foreground tree I think, and I quite like the central area of mid to back ground, with the strokes of colour set almost in almost Pointillist style to capture the impression of light and movement of breeze through coloured undergrowth and leaves. At least that's what I was trying to do!

It's my first drawing for a long time (2005 was my last serious bout of visual work, and then I was working totally in black and white pen and ink), apart from a little sketching this May just gone. The pencils I'm using here are Caran d'ache and Signature - both the watersoluble kind, though I like to use them dry as they're quite vibrant on the page. I've never really done much coloured pencil work, and I'm not so confident with colour on the whole, so I'm not surprised this effort has come out a bit on the bland side so far. I think I'll do another couple of hours' work on it, and then let it be. The thing about coloured pencil is, if you over do it the colour tends to become leaden and waxy, I'm trying not to let that happen.

To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel; to set budding more...

Palely and flamily
Igniting its carbon monoxides, by eyes
Dulled to a halt under bowlers.

'To Autumn' by John Keats, 'Poppies in October' by Sylvia Plath. Both October born poets, in fact Sylvia Plath's birthday was the 27th October, the date she penned this poem.

Ironically, tommorow will mark the 10th anniversary of the death of Ted Hughes, husband of Sylvia Plath. Two extraordinary poets linked by fate and by ultimately tragic love.